1. |
Hollywood, Alabama
03:06
|
|||
|
I wanna be a rock-n-roll star
Drive a phat a$$ car
Do a different starlet every night
I wanna hang with Fabio
and eat at Spago
Drink imported beer. I've got a right
I'll be an E! True Hollywood Story
Sell the house. I'm bound for glory
Think I'll learn to play guitar
I know they'll steal my porno movie
f***in' groovie
All the chickies are getting wet
I wanna be a rock-n-roll star
Drive a phat a$$ car
MTV with no regret
I wanna holiday in Aspen
Do some drugs and be a "has been"
Think I'll learn to play guitar
I'll be an E! True Hollywood Story
Sell the house. I'm bound for glory
I'll be an E! True Hollywood Story
I've got a lot going for me
yeah, yeah, yeah
|
||||
2. |
Jackson
03:15
|
|||
|
There's a guy whos got my name in Jackson.
Nicest sum-a-bitch you'd ever meet.
And people say he sounds like Hoyt Axton.
Powdered toast is all he'll ever eat.
There's a guy who looks like me in Mississippi.
Drives a busted '83 Econoline.
And he's rough around the edges but he ain't no hippy.
Coolest motherfucker you're apt to find.
It's a good thing that he's way out there in Jackson.
At least I know my woman's being true.
But if she ain't I'll drag out my ol' shot gun.
Drive to Mississippi and shoot him through.
I think that guy's gonna ruin my reputation.
Spends his days helping grannys accross the street.
People say he's me but that's speculation.
But those sure look like my shoes upon his feet.
It's a good thing that he's way out there in Jackson.
At least I know my woman's being true.
But if she ain't I'll drag out my ol' shot gun.
Drive to Mississippi and shoot him through.
Drive to Mississippi and shoot him through.
Drive to Mississippi and shoot him through.
|
||||
3. |
Nearly Over You
03:06
|
|||
|
I don't understand why the dawn has gotta come so early in the morning
Or why the night has got to be so dark.
Been thinking 'bout eating chocolate marshmellow moonpies
or kissing all the strangers in the park.
And Saturday don't mean a thing to me when I can't get up and find a thing to do
but I'm nearly over you.
And I can almost sleep the whole way through the night.
It's never been just black or white
with only a candle light
and I'm nearly over you. I'm nearly over you.
I'm thinkin' Mondays probably really aren't that bad
but Tuesday coulda been a better day.
Shoes on the floor looking up at me. They're the only thing that moves
that haven't already got up and walked away.
Wednesday is the only day it takes to make me feel this way. I can start anew
'cause I'm nearly over you.
Friday comes to noon to find me bored again.
Can't remember what I said
but I'm still not dead
and I'm nearly over you. I'm nearly over you.
|
||||
4. |
Otis Creek
03:29
|
|||
|
Do you remember the year that the Otis Creek flooded?
How it crept up the bank and it soaked all the land?
How it molded the cotton and washed it down river?
And the bails that they saved you could count on one hand.
They say she stood on that bridge for 41 Sundays.
A scar on her finger from the ring that she sold.
And her bloodshot, baby-blue eyes couldn't hold back the water.
And the Otis Creek levee had all it would hold.
Some songs sound better when they're sung in a vaccuum,
where there's nothing to dread, nothing to loose.
You can scream out the window, you can scream at your neighbor,
you can scream at your maker just as loud as you choose.
By the 41st Sunday the town folk had gathered
and they stood at the foot of the Otis Creek bridge.
By the time Sheriff Dooley pulled up in his cruiser
the crowd stretched as far as the Kilbourne town ridge.
We stood there and stared for what seemed like forever
straining our ears to hear what she'd say.
No one said jump, hell no one said nothin'.
But the wake and ripple, it washed us away.
Some songs sound better when they're sung in a vaccuum,
where there's nothing to dread, nothing to loose.
You can scream out the window, you can scream at your neighbor,
you can scream at your maker just as loud as you choose.
When the Otis Creek ebbed and pulled pack to that levee,
tucked in it's fangs and ground finally dried,
there were 41 souls forlorn and forsaken.
Claimed by her grief and the Otis Creek tide.
|
||||
5. |
Kurdt
03:18
|
|||
|
It's times like these I wanna fly away.
Accept the fact that I won't die today.
Save my bitchin' for another day.
Just get high on smack and lemonade.
Contemplate another suicide.
Scratch the scars I barely try to hide.
Dream of days when I was in my prime
when Kurdt said angst was such a bore.
Hold on it's gettin' better.
I got a letter.
We sing the songs they say to sing
just like we're told.
Hold on it's gettin' better
Feet tied together
Bound up like punk rock Botticellis
in the cold.
It's been so long they've had us under check
we barely feel the noose around our neck.
What a foolish ****ing waste of time
we spend forcing ourselves into lines.
Hold on it's gettin' better.
I got a letter.
We sing the songs they say to sing
just like we're told.
Hold on it's gettin' better.
Feet tied together.
Tied up like punk rock Botticellis
in the cold.
Hold on it's gettin' better.
It's in the letter.
It's in the sweater songs we sing
as we grow old.
|
||||
6. |
Dirty Jokes
03:03
|
|||
|
Don't bother turning on the red light.
Pack your bags, we'll leave tonight.
I've got a fast 442, a little rust and ragged blue
but she's all gassed up and running right.
You always said that we would run away.
Tomorrow we could be in Santa Fe.
You could wear those bicycle shorts you know the ones with the red stripe
always reminds me of when we were ten.
And I'll wear my Dale Ernhardt Jr. shirt.
The one I wanna be buried in.
A little bit of sun on Mother's Day.
By morning we could be in Monterrey.
I got $37.10 in my pocket.
I got a car that flies low just like a rocket.
You've got a half a pack of smokes and a book of dirty jokes
and a picture of a signpost in a locket.
You say it points the way to better days...
|
||||
7. |
Vista Cruiser
03:08
|
|||
|
She left just like a bullet from a gun
All lipstick red and crazy from the sun
And I like to think she landed in Arizona
Got a fresh tattoo and finally had some fun
I still get dressed for church on Sunday mornings
Though I rarely ever make it out the door
And her mom still calls to check in every Monday
But even she don't ask about her anymore
Hey Kirstie Allie you wouldn't even know me now
Since I left the valley I won't drag that bag around
And we're never gonna live to see that Nashville skyline
We've run outta time
We've run outta time
I've finally shaken loose of this dusty town
Threw some things in the Vista Cruiser and I hit the road
Drove out through the desert under pitch black summer stars
Heading anywhere that I-40 goes
Hey Kirstie Allie you wouldn't even know me now
Since I left the valley I won't drag that bag around
And we're never gonna live to see that Nashville skyline
We've run outta time
We've run outta time
We've run outta time
We've run outta time
We've run outta time
We've run outta time
|
||||
8. |
Cherry 25
03:29
|
|||
|
Kickin' 'round on Uncle Russell's farm,
met my first true love in his barn.
A cherry '25,
gonna shine her like a dime.
Kickin' 'round on Uncle Russell's farm.
Filled her with my Rocket 88.
Polished her with malice and with hate.
Topped with forced induction
she responds with vile seduction.
Filled her with my Rocket 88.
She purrs like a kitten when you give it to her hard.
But she'll roar like a lion if you go a bit too far.
Dressed in flat-black satin she's a tart.
Sometimes she can be a bitch to start.
Goose her once or twice.
You can't get more for twice the price.
She's my girl and I swear we'll never part.
She's hotter than a pep rally bon fire.
A fuel injected siren with just one goddamn desire;
to take me just as far as I can go.
She says, "Hurry man you're holdin' up the show."
|
||||
9. |
Summer
02:47
|
|||
|
Hey Summer, long time no see.
Winter's been trying to kick the windows in
and Spring only brought more rain than flowers.
Hey Summer, where you been?
Hey Summer, you beautiful stranger.
Call those bikinis out from under the rocks
and tell all the girls that the surf has come back to La Jolla.
Hey Summer, key the locks.
We're sick of these cold Winter skies, all purple and stainless.
We're smoking way too much, we're pasty but painless.
And maybe we're asking too much but you know we're shamelessly waiting.
Hey Summer, long time no see.
We're reading the palms as they sway on the palisade
and felling quite crushed by the weight of this Winter patina.
Hey Summer, we're counting days.
Hey Summer, we're counting days.
Hey Summer, we're counting days.
|
||||
If you like Billy's Ego, you may also like:
The In-Between
by Dolly Valentine
Beautiful ballads wreathed with mist, “The In-Between” boasts gentle melodies and rich Americana arrangements.
go to album
The surf-pop loveliness of La Luz meets Veruca Salt-style layered vocals in this classic-sounding release from the U.K.'s Peggy Sue.
go to album
Pickle Darling looks to the sky on sweet, outer space-inspired LP, elevating their bedroom pop prowess further than ever before.
go to album
Enough as it Was
by Amos the Kid
Terrifically edgy guitar rock defines the latest from Amos the Kid, funneling country influence through a gritty indie aesthetic.
go to album
All Dat Love
by Adam Hattaway and the Haunters
Off-kilter New Zealand indie rock meets fuzzed-out psych-pop on this wonky and charming debut LP.
go to album
The London band's new album is a vibrant postcard from southern Italy, boosted by brass, strings, and pizzica percussion from local players.
go to album
MaMaMa - Hier sera meilleur
by MaMaMa
Symphonic debut from a French multi-instrumentalist and composer who bridges the gap between studio recordings and synthesized sounds.
go to album
